The Perfect Distraction
by YANIsweetness7
Summary: Freshly out of rehab, Sherlock encounters another addict. Lucky for him, she doesn't abuse substances. Sherlock/OC
1. Bumping Uglies

Yup, starting a new fic again without updating my other ones. I suck, but eh. I'm used to it. But good news! This is my second third person POV fic. I am finally getting the hang of this.

* * *

She tried to her hardest to focus on the sounds of their flesh meeting rhythmically because if she paid further mind to the sound of his labored moaning, Nasira would no longer be in the mood.

This guy looked alright to her. A bit too stuffy for her usual taste, but no matter what they looked like, seeking out a suitable partner after midnight was a difficult task on its own. She'd regretted waiting this late for her next lay, but she had slept the entire day away and it was either now or wait until the city was alive again.

The cliché was that New York never slept, which wasn't true because before Sunday turned into Monday, the streets were at a lull. Remembering what day it was, Nasira found herself confused as to why a man would look so business savvy on a night of Sabbath.

Desperate moaning snapped her out of her thoughts and back onto the lap her last resort. With the way he was bucking his hips, she knew he wasn't going to last much longer and she was nowhere near the orgasm she so craved. Taking one hand off his shoulder, she reached inbetween them for her own release.

"NYPD. Ma'am if you could remove yourself from his lap and stand up." Trying her hardest not to shudder, she did as was told while the guy quickly adjusted himself, standing up as well.

"You two are under arrest for public indecency. If you could put your hands behind your head." Unfortunately Nasira wasn't just desperate for a partner, but for a setting. In the heat of the moment, central park seemed like a good idea, but as her Miranda rights were read to her, she could feel nothing but the weight of regret in her belly.

* * *

As a first time offender, her victim of the night only got a ticket, but since Nasira was a repeat offender, she had the option of house arrest or going to jail. As absurd as it sounded, jail sounded ideal to her. Three free meals, a bed and undoubtedly all the orgasms she could ever want; maybe even seduce a guard or two.

But she couldn't, for the life of her, take it. She tried making sense of her decision by reasoning that prison would be on her record forever, but it wasn't the truth. The truth was the last three things her mother said to her seven years ago before kicking her out of the house. The first being that she had a problem, which she didn't think so at the time, but here sitting on a hard wooden chair in a musty old courtroom, she could start to see where her mother was coming from on that one.

Second, that she was her own biggest enabler. And picking prison would fall straight into that category. The third one, the one that Nasira was sure held no truth to it was that her mother loved her with all her heart.

"I'll take the former your honor."

Two months of house arrest. That's what she signed up for and she was eager to do it. She couldn't leave to seek sex and since she didn't have any contacts in this city, sex couldn't come to her.

The cops made it very clear that the radius on her bracelet was very short. So short that if she crossed the street, she'd be out of range.

"Do you live here alone?" Her eyes widened before nodding quickly. "This is a huge place to own all by yourself. Especially at such a young age." The policeman sounded suspicious and she just wanted him to leave her alone.

"It's my friend's place. She lives out of state." He seemed pleased with that answer.

"I gathered some numbers for you, just in case." She took the paper from him to see them listed as Launderers and Grocery Deliveries nearby. "I called that first number beforehand and they're not limited to just groceries." He looked at Nasira expectantly, waiting for her expression to change. "They do miscellaneous stuff." He leaned in slightly before continuing. "Batteries…"

That definitely struck a nerve with her. "Ok officer! I greatly appreciate it." She lied, leading him out of the door. "No problem, Miss Layton. See you in two months."

She forced one final smile before closing the second door to the nice brownstone and locking it behind her.

Nasira'd been squatting around New York for years and had never secured a place so nice before. She couldn't help but to smile at her perfect timing, having found the house empty a few weeks ago.


	2. Rubbing One Out

Nasira finally meets Holmes and Watson. Oh and Masturbation, so watch out for that if you're not interested? Idk how to warn for this kind of stuff when I've never really written a sex scene before. So yeah...

* * *

Celibacy was hard. It'd been almost two weeks since that unsatisfactory night in Central Park and Nasira couldn't remember going so long without sex before.

She wasn't a big fan of pleasing herself on her own, but she was thinking about going to those lengths in the past couple of days. Luckily, there were books and tv to distract her. She saw a computer in the living room, but didn't trust herself with internet access just yet, which is how she knew the moans filling the apartment couldn't possibly be from porn she forgot to turn off. Those moans were real.

Slowly, she crept out of her bed and onto the floor, crawling to the door to put her ear against it.

The two weren't saying anything, but were definitely having fun. Now that's what she liked to hear during the act itself, not guttural moans that reminded her of a cat coughing up a hairball.

They were keeping a rhythmic, deliberate pattern, intent on reaching their goal. 12 days without being touched by another human being can take its toll on an addict.

Nasira slept in her underwear for comfort, but now she was grateful for one layer of clothing being between her and her release. The woman's moans were getting louder and Nasira tried her hardest to imagine someone else's hand creeping into her underwear instead of her own.

She worked fervently, matching the pace of the couple downstairs. Nasira pulled her legs closer to her as she felt that familiar feeling at the pit of her stomach and she couldn't help but to be surprised. Never in the past had she come close to orgasming on her own, but the combination of voyeurism and stimulation through sounds only instead of being accompanied by visuals must've triggered something in her because she came just as the woman downstairs let out her last shuddering moan of relief.

Tuning out everything, Nasira lay completely on the hardwood floor as she continued to stroke herself down from her climax. It'd felt amazing, but she didn't want to have to rely on the act for the next six weeks.

A knock on the door brought Nasira out of her lax physical state and into a rigid and stiff one, promptly causing her to remove her fingers from where'd they previously been.

"Open up." The voice was british, male and not very happy. Maybe the couple had fled after being caught by this neighbor? Or housekeeper of sorts? Landlord maybe?

"Just a moment!" Nasira replied, getting up to pack as many things as she could into her large duffle bag so that she could make a run for it. "Shit." Nasira whispered, looking down at the only thing preventing her from leaving this place.

So instead, she opted to get dressed so she could talk to this man fully clothed. What exactly she planned to say, hadn't come to mind yet. Nasira'd never been one to talk her way out of a tough situation. Sex had always been her weapon of choice, not her tongue.

Slipping on her shirt, she heard the front door close, leaving her in complete confusion.

* * *

Convinced that a prank was being played on her, Nasira stayed in her room for the rest of the day, only sneaking out for a quick pee and or snack.

It wasn't until nightfall when she heard the door opening again and two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs. They both stayed in their respective rooms until the shorter steps made their way downstairs and minutes later, the pair that remained went up what she guessed to be another flight of stairs.

Nasira figured it'd be harder to kick her out if she were on a rooftop than the first level of the brownstone. Throwing on a hoodie, she followed the second pair of footsteps upstairs.

She crept up there slowly, but she was pretty sure he could hear her coming. If he did, he made no effort to acknowledge her presence, allowing Nasira to tip-toe closer.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Nasira walked into his line of vision which happened to be a few feet away from some sort of large wooden beehive. "How come you're not kicking me out?" Not that she wanted him to, but after hours of paranoia, she needed to know.

In the time it took him to answer her, Nasira spent looking at him. She was sure this was the man who was at her door. He hadn't spoken yet, but the other pair of feet sounded like heels. "You took the room I wanted." He didn't take his eye off the hive which only unnerved Nasira further.

Not knowing what to say to that, she shuffled her feet, not knowing if she should stay or return to the confines of her room where everything made sense. Nasira chose the former, taking a good look at this weirdo.

Even though he was seated, she could tell he was shorter than her. And he had the same British accent, confirming that this was the very man from earlier. His hair was messy and he hadn't shaved in a while. His nose was narrow and pointy and on either side were very wide, very beautiful eyes. She just couldn't tell what color they were at this angle.

"It's not as if you could leave anyway." He stated, finally taking his eyes off the hive to look at her ankle before directly into her eyes. Blue, they were a light blue.

"How'd you know?" She asked, finally gaining some confidence with him.

"I heard about the peculiar arrest of a nymphomaniac a few weeks ago in Central Park. With the addition of the scent permeating out of your room, it wasn't hard to figure out." Nasira cringed at the term Nymphomaniac and blushed at the mention of her odd combination of eavesdropping and masturbation. Her gut finally dropping at the realization that it had been his moans she heard this morning.

"Sherlock! Who is this?" Lost in her thoughts, Nasira had failed to notice a third person join them on the rooftop. A woman; a very attractive woman with long dark hair, high cheekbones and freckles all over her face. At this point, Nasira was sure she'd entered her own personal hell.

Two attractive people that definitely fell into the category of her type, invading the safe haven she'd been using to wean herself off her little addiction. "Nasira Layton, 25. Born in Chicago, Illinois to a Betty and Jonathan Layton."

Nasira's eyes widened, startled by how he knew so much about her. "Ok… but what is she doing here?" She tried to speak up for herself, but Holmes was having none of it.

"When I am not consulting for NYPD, I need to remain busy. Nasira is a natural apiculturist, aiding me in the writing on our observations of the segregation of the queen." All she could do was nod, but the woman looked at her expectantly and 'Sherlock' didn't look like he was going to say anything else on the fabricated matter, essentially leaving her hanging.

"He wants me to stay here for short notice observations since bees have such short lifespans you know." Nasira knew she didn't sound convincing, but it was the best she could do. "I'll stay out of your way, don't worry. You won't even know I'm here."

And with that, Nasira removed herself from the awkward situation, breathing a sigh of relief that she wasn't getting the boot as she'd originally expected. But she wasn't so sure living with those two was going to be any easier than having her ankle bracelet go off.


	3. Fuck

Ok I hate this chapter and I'm sorry for the length (that's what he said). I should've just attached this to the last chapter, but as usual, I am an idiot.

* * *

When she woke up in the morning, on her nightstand was a post-it with two names on top of a pile of beekeeping books. Initially, she planned on ignoring them, but it was a safer option than thinking about Sherlock's giant blue peepers all day.

Taking the post-it off the top book, Nasira couldn't help but to frown. The name Sherlock Holmes sounded fake to her, but it was what 'Joan Watson' had called him last night. Either way, she couldn't stop saying it, enjoying the pattern of her tongue behind her teeth.

Taking a break from her studies, Nasira chose to make dinner for her housemates, but perhaps at the wrong time. "I went to Le Grand Macabre one when I was nine, now I'm a buff!" Sherlock yelled, stomping into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Nasira. I ordered these in advance, thinking it'd only be Sherlock and me." Joan apologized.

Nasira shrugged, not making eye contact with the woman. "It's ok. I don't like the opera anyway." She lied, scowling as Sherlock stole a freshly made breadstick from the tray.

Feeling there was an argument coming on, Nasira turned off the oven, excusing herself from the kitchen and made her way upstairs. When she said she'd be out of their way, she meant it quite literally. Plus their arguing would only add to her stress which was already through the roof since they moved in. The constant paranoia of them kicking her out, the suspicion as to why Sherlock let her stay in the first place and of course her withdrawals were all taking a toll on her.

Sighing to herself, Nasira picked up the stupid beekeeping book to distract herself from the pointed tones going on beneath her.

She'd just finished the history of bees in Ancient Egypt when she heard the front door close. Hurriedly, but not too eager, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen to see Sherlock already helping himself to her lasagna.

Pulling out a plate for herself, she began cutting a slice. "You should try to spend time with her, Sherlock. She's your sober companion." Grabbing a fork, she sat across from him at the small table, not paying his furrowed brow any mind. "She's only trying to help."

Since she obviously wasn't getting the hint that Sherlock didn't want to converse the situation with her, he picked up his plate and relocated to the living room, leaving a stunned Nasira in the kitchen.

* * *

It'd been hours since Sherlock left the brownstone, giving Nasira the peace and quiet she wanted to read. Much to her surprise, she began to find apiculture very interesting. But naughtily, she began to wonder what exactly Holmes intended to do with all that honey.

"Nasira?" Joan called out as she entered the brownstone, causing the woman in question to hide the book under the pillow she'd been laying on. Looking at the clock, Nasira realized it was almost midnight and that there was only one set of footsteps.

"Where's Sherlock?" Nasira asked, stifling a yawn.

"In jail because he ran into the suspect's car, on purpose." Joan answered annoyed at the situation. "With who's car?" Nasira wondered, trying to clear things up.

"Mine!" Joan half yelled, throwing her hands into the air before plopping down onto the loveseat.

Nasira couldn't get the word suspect out of her mind. Sherlock didn't look like a cop to her. "What exactly is it that Sherlock does?"

Joan turned her head quickly to the woman across from her. "You don't know?" Nasira shook her head slowly, wondering if she was currently jeopardizing the façade Sherlock had so thoughtfully crafted for her. Surely a friend, co-worker, fellow apiculturist or whatever the hell she was supposed to be should know what he did for a living.

"He's a consulting detective for the NYPD."

* * *

By the time Sherlock had finally come home the following night, the two beekeeping books were back on the bookshelf, and Nasira was currently deep into one of his psychology books while noodles were cooking on the stove.

"I see you've made yourself at home in my absence." Holmes stated, acknowledging the fact that Nasira was lounging in her pajamas while reading one of the books he hadn't permitted to her.

Finally, choosing to look his way, she thumbed her spot on the page before replying "Yeah, I think brushing up on how the mind works would be a wise choice considering your profession… detective." She added the last part as she walked past him and to the kitchen to finish her Chinese food.

Nasira didn't feel much at home knowing that she was living under the same roof as someone who had connections to the police and could remove her from said roof if she stepped a toe out of line.


End file.
